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THE GRANGE TAPES: LOST RADBURN
Although Radburn was one of the most publicized communities ever founded in America, today some of its history is shrouded in mystery. But tape-recorded interviews with Radburn’s founders and settlers, stored for decades in The Grange, provide missing pieces of our fascinating story. This is part of a series of vignettes about life here almost a century ago. |
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Radburn’s first night: Allen Place 1929
Radburn’s very first settlers were Jim and Emma Wright of Paterson, who moved into 2 Allen Place on April 25, 1929. Two days later, they got company: Howard and Lillian Zeller at 14 Allen, and Fred and Kathy Veile at #8.
Although the Wrights moved in first, there was no agreement on who was second -- the Veiles or the Zellers. “We used to argue about who got there first,’’ Kathy Veile recalled in 1978. “We always said our moving van passed the Zellers’’ en route to Allen.
Kathy -- by then a widow for two decades -- recalled the three couples’ first night on the unfinished, isolated cul de sac, surrounded by woods and fields and the beginnings of a construction site.
“We all went to the Wrights’ house and became acquainted,’’ she said. Beverages were consumed. And, as a lark, Kathy said, “We elected Jimmy Wright mayor, Howard Zeller chief of police and Freddy the fire chief.’’
(In fact, Jim Wright would become the first resident on the Board of Trustees.)
It was the beginning of an exciting time. As Kathy put it, “You felt like you were pioneering. It was an interesting little community to start, and we all felt that we started it, that we were very important people. We went to meetings every night on every little subject, and used to fight like cats and dogs, and end up best friends.’’
Although the Wrights moved in first, there was no agreement on who was second -- the Veiles or the Zellers. “We used to argue about who got there first,’’ Kathy Veile recalled in 1978. “We always said our moving van passed the Zellers’’ en route to Allen.
Kathy -- by then a widow for two decades -- recalled the three couples’ first night on the unfinished, isolated cul de sac, surrounded by woods and fields and the beginnings of a construction site.
“We all went to the Wrights’ house and became acquainted,’’ she said. Beverages were consumed. And, as a lark, Kathy said, “We elected Jimmy Wright mayor, Howard Zeller chief of police and Freddy the fire chief.’’
(In fact, Jim Wright would become the first resident on the Board of Trustees.)
It was the beginning of an exciting time. As Kathy put it, “You felt like you were pioneering. It was an interesting little community to start, and we all felt that we started it, that we were very important people. We went to meetings every night on every little subject, and used to fight like cats and dogs, and end up best friends.’’
PARTY TOWN FOR THE MOTOR AGE
An exceptionally high percentage of residents of early Radburn had attended or graduated from college, and some residents have said the place felt like a college campus.
But college isn’t all work – then or now – and it seems another side of campus life was reflected in the new community.
“The first people who came here were partying types,’’ Karl Duerr of 10 Burnham Place said in an interview in 1978. “Every Saturday night was a gala affair. If you went to bed to sleep you were wasting your time, because they were hollering and hooting and carrying on until the wee small hours.’’
When Lloyd Kerr, a former president of the Board of Trustees, was asked in 1978 about residents who exchanged houses, he replied that they also were “exchanging their spouses.’’
“That was Prohibition,’’ he said, and among ‘’the young people who were living here …. it was considered smart to get booze and get a little cockeyed. A lot of marriages were broken up just because of that idiocy.’’
Community social events were boisterous. Robert Turner, Radburn’s second manager, recalled that dances sponsored by groups such as the Bridge Club and the Fire Company were very popular. “Although there were many stories about these functions,’’ he said, “the general rule was ‘hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.’’’
But the Depression, which followed the stock market crash of October 1929, put a damper on the festivities – sort of.
“We couldn’t have parties, so we had something called a ‘Depression Party,’’’ recalled Harriet Roeder, who moved with her husband Bill to Allen Place in 1929. “You’d invite a bunch of people who’d bring whatever they had. … Everybody brought (some kind of alcohol) and dumped it into the punch bowl. How we survived, I don’t know!’’
But eventually even Radburn’s partying spirit was dampened by economic reality. Many of the biggest partiers “went broke and had to leave,’’ Duerr said. “So things quieted down around here quite a bit.’’